#and I'm like that's a great book for this but. it's a cursory glance.

[menlove]

feeling like a real "well, actually-" bitch reading articles for my capstone that have only done surface digging into the ugaritic texts ahdhsjhs they make so many mistakes and parrot some common misconceptions and I'm sitting here like

[fuctacles]

<<😺😺😺😺

if i didn't respond to your comment it's bc desktop tumblr didn't let me, I still love and appreciate y'all

Maybe tomorrow he'd bring his book here, and keep the cats company while he reads. Would they like it if he read it out loud?

Oh lord, the crazy cat lady energy must be rubbing off on him already.

The cats certainly are. He looks down at his black attire now speckled with cat hair, and sighs. He should have asked Steph where the lint roller was before she left. With great effort, he stands up from the comfy couch, vowing to himself to only do a cursory search with no unnecessary peeking. 

The entrance seems like an obvious start since people like to de-hair themselves before leaving the house. The dresser next to the door is cluttered with typical things - sunglasses, hand lotion, chapstick, some loose change, and jewelry. No roller in sight. So he goes to the kitchen instead, because kitchen is where everything goes. The cats are watching him curiously from their chosen perches around the house.

"Stop it. This is all your fault."

He finally finds what he's looking for on a windowsill next to a dead fly. He starts cleaning his clothes there, next to the fridge, and its colorful display catches his attention. 

There's an Ewok magnet that looks handmade, holding up a birthday card, and a few holiday photos, capturing smiling people in swimming costumes. Some of them look older, like the photo of a kid in a wizard robe, or a pair of bloodied-up teenagers in sailor costumes, which must be a very obscure reference because Eddie hasn't seen it at any costume party before. 

The caption under the photo reads BFF but someone added a circle of smaller F's all around the photo, turning them into a frame. Which, if Eddie's connecting the dots correctly, would imply that it's Robin and Steph. The quality isn't the best, but at first glance, he's assumed it must be a family member, maybe a brother, but he remembers her saying she's an only child. 

He tracks the other photos, but most of them are new, of the Steph he already knows. There might be more around the apartment, though. 

But he's already rolled his shirt and he'll be back tomorrow morning anyway, so he quickly works on his pants' legs, gives the cats a wave, and leaves. 

While walking back, he's apparently so lost in his thoughts, he gets startled by his own uncle.

"The cats still alive?"

"Do you want?! Me?! To die?!" Eddie screeches, eyes wide and a hand on his heart, the other holding him upright against the wall. "Why the fuck are you sitting there in the dark?!"

Wayne looks pointedly at the lamp next to him, then to his nephew. Aside from his reading nook in the corner though, the living room has no other light sources right now, but Eddie just throws his hands in defeat, deciding not to argue. Especially not when his uncle finally folded and was reading Blade Runner. 

"Must have been thinking some guilty thoughts, huh?" 

"Excuse me?" Eddie takes a step back from his course towards the kitchen. His uncle was flipping a page in his book, clearly not reading but not looking up from it either. 

"To get scared like that. Did you do something bad, son?" He finally looks up, and Eddie doesn't like it. He looks exactly like his friends just before teasing him about something. "Saw something you shouldn't have?"

Eddie folds his arms and sticks his nose up, hoping the evening darkness hides his warming cheeks. 

"I don't know what kind of panty raiding you do up there, but I'm not a pervert."

"Panty riding, huh?" Wayne raises his eyebrows in interest. "That what you boys do in college these days?"

"Do you want a sandwich? Some tea maybe?" Eddie has already turned his back to him and is switching the light on in the kitchen. "And the cats are fine, thanks for asking!"

"Yes and yes. Thank you!" 

Eddie prepares them sandwiches and teas and grabs his own book so they can read in silence waiting for the evening news. It's nice to have this, a break from busy and loud college life, just sharing silence and love for books with his uncle. 

That is, of course, until Wayne looks at his watch and puts the book down to exchange it for a remote. Eddie likes to keep his nose in the book until the news become too distracting or he catches something interesting being reported on. His uncle has other plans for him this time. 

"You know it's alright to like her, right?"

Eddie lowers his book, slightly incredulous that Wayne is still talking about it. He looks at him with wide eyes.

"You really want me to fuck your neighbor, huh?"

Finally, his uncle gets a taste of his own medicine, almost choking on the tea that he unfortunately decided to sip on at that moment. Eddie: one, Wayne: zero.

But later, the score evened out again, as all Eddie could think of while trying to sleep were the pictures on the fridge, and plowing his uncle's neighbor into her mattress until she screamed. 

The next morning, with not enough sleep under his belt, Eddie skips two sets at a time, because he totally absolutely royally forgot about the fucking plant. 

He fumbles with the keys, can hear the inquisitive meows on the other side of the door, and once he's in he takes a beeline to the kitchen, ignoring the little creatures following him like they have been starving on the streets and he was a fresh batch of tuna factory waste.

The plant looks normal, the same as it did 24 hours ago, and he waters it as per instructions while trying not to even brush its leaves because he truly believes his touch might kill it. His track record with plants indicates so. Only then does he turn to the meowing bunch at his feet. 

"Hello, little demons. Time to feast."

The cats are fed, their mouths making unpleasant wet noises against the equally wet food, and Eddie has a moment to take a curious walk around the place, in search of more photos.

He finds a wedding photo, with Steph in a pink dress and stunning make up dancing with a man with curly hair. There's one from a barbecue, where Steph is being hugged by a tall man with a mustache. She's wearing jean shorts and a sweater in this one, and somehow, looks a bit off. It looks older than the wedding one. 

But a true treasure chest is the huge frame he finds above a small bookcase.

It's a collage titled 'The fucking journey' that seems to be a collection of Polaroids from a multitude of workplaces, with the same two people present. Year after year, one job after another, until they got where they are today. 

It starts with a 1983 and the sailor costumes he's already seen. They are less bruised and more tired in this one. Knowing where to start, Eddie's eyes track from one photo to another, observing Stephanie's features, her wardrobe, and her hair change until she becomes the woman she is today. 

There was no boy in that photo on the fridge. It's always been her. Growing into herself. 

Is this what his uncle was talking about? Well, not talking, but being annoyingly vague about it, like he wasn't sure what he was talking about himself. 

Fear not, Uncle Wayne. Eddie's going to pick up every pamphlet and every zine he can put his hands on, to educate them both about who their neighbor is, how to navigate the topic and respect her the way she deserves.

[natalieironside]

"Secret Window, Secret Garden 2: The Revenge, by John Shooter" by Natalie Ironside

One morning Natalie H. Ironside awoke in her bed to discover she'd been transformed into a young Johnny Depp. "Dang," she said, shaking her head in consternation, "what a raw deal. This ain't what I need right now."

She'd only just begun to process this new development when there came a knock at the door. She opened it to discover an angry man who otherwise looked normal and unremarkable, holding a rolled-up typescript. He'd arrived in a car with Mississippi plates, which struck her as out of the ordinary because, as everyone knows, the state of Mississippi does not require front license plates. Being transformed into a young Johnny Depp overnight had not struck her as odd because, like a vagrant in a C.S. Lewis book, this was hardly her first rum do.

"You stole my story," the angry man said.

"Well, damn," Natalie replied, "that sucks if it's true. What makes you say that?"

They talked for a while, and it was clear the stranger meant well but had a fundamental misunderstanding of US copyright law. "I see what the problem is," Natalie said. "Come inside and we can have some like coffee or whatever and talk it out."

Disarmed, the stranger agreed. He handed her his typescript and said, "My manuscript--"

"Typescript," Natalie corrected. Then, contritely, she added, "Sorry. It just kinda bugs me when people refer to typescripts as manuscripts."

The stranger didn't know how to reply to that. "Just . . . just read it," he said.

After a cursory glance at the first page, she looked up in bemusement and said, "Well, I didn't write this at all. Stephen King did."

The man took back the typescript, muttering something about bringing the wrong paperwork and how he was gonna get in big trouble with the Weez for this one. Seeming at a loss for words without his intended prop, he said, "Listen, I, uh . . . I'm you. I'm like a manifestation of all the rage and resentment you keep bottled up."

"I, like, don't, though," she insisted. "I mean, I do, but not like that guy in the story did. Being open about the darker parts of our personalities is kind of a whole thing with me."

"Yeah, and that's why I'm here talking to you like this instead of going through all that rigamarole. What did you think of the story, anyways?"

"It's one of King's weaker works, if I'm being honest. It woulda made a great short story, but stretching it out into 5 hours just feels like a half-asseded sequel to The Dark Half. Plus DID and schizophrenia don't work anything like that--or, well, this--and that's always been a bit of a bent beam with the guy."

"Yeah," said the man. "Listen, can you just, like, write a story and put my name on it? I know you don't have to, but it would really mean a lot to me, and it'll get me out of your hair."

"Sure thing, man," she replied.

The end.

[caterpills]

(Six) (Seven) Several Sentence Sunday

Hello, friends!! Thanks again for the tags @myheartalivewrites @blueeyedgrlwrites and I'm going to borrow @sparklepocalypse's open tag too! It's a weird time this Sunday, and I have an 'everything I write is not great' vibe today, but I'm powering through!! And I know I'm my own worst critic, so... I wasn't exactly sure what to share from the next chapter of This Is More of a Comment Than a Question without spoiling some surprises (or just copy-pasting a whole scene), so here's a little bit:

Henry seems to have caught onto Alex's tangential subject changes and doesn't even ask for clarification this time. "Yes, I'd like to think so. But even still, saying it out loud wasn't always an option for me. It took much longer." "When? Like, when did you finally say it out loud?" "After I finished my first draft of Generations," Henry says quietly, simply. The statement catches Alex off guard. That doesn't seem right. The way Alex remembers Generations, there was such surety in James's narration, in the deft and decisive way he speaks to his father about his identity as a gay man, what it means to him, and what it will still mean after he is gone. The impossibility that Henry might not have had that same confidence before he wrote the book doesn't exactly compute. "Really?"

(This takes place in one of my favorite locations of this chapter, so I'm excited to eventually share!!)

Open tag as always, friends! Please tag me if you use it because I would love to read what you're working on ❤️

Because this has been a hard writing week, I'm going to share some "behind the scenes" stuff from the most recent chapter about the locations around D.C. that Henry and Alex visited. (I did this for the Boston chapter, too!)

The Hay-Adams Hotel

The historic Hay-Adams Hotel might be the most ridiculous place Alex has encountered in his life. It's bougie, like old-money white people bougie. His teeth hurt from clenching his jaw so that he doesn't say anything off-the-cuff to get him immediately kicked out. Valets are at every door, rushing to grab the handles before Alex can even think to reach for it. The interior is covered in plush burgundy rugs, thick brocade curtains, slick wood paneling, and ugly as sin chandeliers. Sure, its proximity to museums, parks, and the White House make it a prime location for tourists to blow money for a deluxe experience in the nation's capital. But there is something so viscerally unsettling about the distinct haunted house aesthetic the whole place is giving off. The Great Hall, Library of Congress

The cocktail hour takes place inside the Great Hall of the Library. Alex gawks at the lofty ceilings, rising a steep two stories, and ending in radically intricate stained glass windows above them. After their visit in Boston, Alex finds himself looking everywhere, trying to find the pieces that cursory glances would miss. It's not just a historical building, but there is a purpose in the choices and a beauty in everything, even in the absence of something. Henry taught him that.

The Coolidge Auditorium, Library of Congress

At the podium, Henry runs through the obligatory thanks: to the hosts, the Library of Congress, the National Book Festival organizers, the committee of literary judges who have given his novels so much consideration over the years, the rest of his fellow authors who have done such groundbreaking work this year, and to the readers—always the readers.

He clears his throat, looking up to the back of the auditorium. Whatever Henry is searching for, and ultimately doesn't find, changes the way he stands. There's a drop in his shoulders, a disappointment sliding across his face. Before Alex can look for himself, Henry starts reading.

Off the Record Bar, The Hays-Adams Hotel

His dinner is a bowl of mixed nuts and a glass of whiskey, neat. He takes another sip, and finds his tumbler empty. So, scratch that, make it two whiskeys for dinner.

Alex knows he can't stay here forever��the bartender kicking him out at closing time doesn't count—but he wants to wallow. It feels good to wallow, where the only things that can see him feel so spectacularly low are strangers and the framed caricatures of notorious political figures on the wall. He can drink away his disappointment, encased by the black-and-crimson color scheme of the speakeasy decor.

[silvermoon424]

Hello! I’ve been following your blog for awhile and I have a question. You see this is my first semester in grad school to earn a masters in library science with a specialization in archiving. I absolutely adore all of your manga scans as well as the other scans you continuously find and tag. As part of my archives and manuscripts class I have to find an article that has something to do with a current archive. It would be all too easy to find an article about a historical or political archive but I was wondering if you knew where to find a manga, comics, or graphic novel archive? Or maybe point me in the direction of where to find one? Or perhaps the handle of someone to talk too? My assignment isn’t due till the 17th so I have some time but I thought I’d ask early anyway.

First of all, thank you so much for your kind words! I'm glad you enjoy my work.

Secondly, I do know the Internet Archive contains a rather large digital archive of manga scans. The Internet Archive is a public digital library that does amazing work for the world of media and internet archival; if you haven't heard of them, I definitely recommend looking into them! But yeah, they've digitized and archived quite a lot of manga, comics, and graphic novels as part of their efforts.

I found an article about a new organization ("new" as in May of this year) called the Manga Archive Organization which seems like it will be a more traditional physical archive, but because it's so new it's very hard to find more information on them.

The Library of Congress has an archive of webcomics and a page on their comic collection, idk if that will help.

Finally, Arizona State University has an extensive page on different resources for comic book/graphic novel archives and collections. Just a cursory glance of this page shows me that this would be a great place to look for ideas.

I hope this helps!

[aggressiveworldbuilding]

i hate elves.

i say this, having played an elf before so i know why powergamers like them. there is nothing wrong with enjoying the aesthetic of 'twink with a sword' or 'elven accuracy go brrrr'.

but having read the 'elf book' (i think it was the same book as them releasing all the new variants of tieflings? i cant remember now) i was underwhelmed.

Elf lore is that they are basically No Name brand Tolkien elves with none of the interesting, ethereal bits and all of the xenophobia. Which - wanna preface this - there is nothing bad about exploring themes of discrimination in ttrpgs. It just. has to be handled with something other than misinterpreting or straight up copying Lord of the Rings?

I cannot for the life of me find the book it was in, but i remember reading that elves want to travel back to their homeland or feel a call to the beyond or something like that. Which is just. LotR elves but less interesting.

My main issue is that elves in WotC worlds offer nothing new to the genre. They are generic, easily digestible, bland ass creatures. I'm not as familiar with Pf2e lore but at least they actually bring up the problem of different lifespans in their description. Also! Elves change in appearance in pf depending on where they live. so we don't NEED 700 different kinds of elves.

Doing a cursory glance at a wiki (which is sad that only Fandom has info on WotC. one would think they would care more about their lore.) I get this.

This is everything they have on the general culture for elves. If i click into the lore sections for Sun Elves, it provides me with a little bit more - which is nice.

only issue is that Sun Elves aren't a thing anymore.

The most expansive lore for elves is. Drow. Eughhhhhh spider sex cult.

anyone who knows me irl has gotten the Drow Rant before; but recently I changed my mind. I don't hate Drow for what they do - but rather how it is presented.

Drow are an 'Evil Race' - although not Naturally Evil like Orcs (which was wild to read and i have a bone to pick abt that)

Yet their lore emphasizes that 'all' drow have a massive superiority complex, a lack of conventional morality, are vengeful, taught to be power hungry, and mistrust everyone around them - even the ones that don't want to be 'evil'. And you know what?

Thats rad! I like that!

There is a non-perfect society that doesn't always get along with itself. Granted the reason they provide as to why Drow haven't just killed each other is kindof a cop-out but with very minimal tweaking you might actually have something. The only thing i don't really like abt drow is that there is no 'good' or redeeming traits about them. Culture is 2 sides of the same coin; for every horrible policy, there was something relatively good. Maybe their judicial system is tight. Maybe they have great infrastructure. Idk but I want to know more.

i should make a post abt them.

Anyways TLDR: Elves deserve better. I find them bland because they are just empty husks stolen from Lord of the Rings, and half their lore no longer applies to modern dnd. Drow are the only semi-fleshed out elves and that scares me bc they are a spider sex cult. ;/

[syneilesis]

Unfinished Synfic #2

Metafurically

Obey Me! | Satan x Reader; rom-com AU

In a curious turn of events, you’ve become the caretaker of six cute kittens, and have caught the eye of an equally cute, green-eyed blond.

Notes: Yes, that's actually the title; no, I don't regret it. It's been a while since I played Obey Me. I found that I couldn't juggle more than three mobile games lol the daily log in already exhausts me haha. I still have it installed so someday I'll probably play it again.

So like, in this AU, the brothers sans Satan go to the human world for some reason and they turned into kittens because they broke the law or something. You found them all sad and pathetic and so you brought them into your home to take care of them. They got attached to you like barnacles. Satan goes up to find his brothers but gets distracted by a curious little bookshop.

You're a part-time employee at Simeon's bookstore and a full-time grad student. At first you just find this blond green-eyed customer cute; he likes mystery genres too much. But then one day, he buys Howl's Moving Castle and all of a sudden you're in love.

I still have other notes for this one, like your names for the kittens (you're unimaginative sadly), but I'm too lazy to look for my notebook lol

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single bookstore worker in possession of a great inventory of books must be in want of an extra room.

“I’m not selling them,” you said, “I just need a place to store them.”

At the mystery/thriller aisle, Simeon ticked his checklist and smiled without glancing your way.

“Where do you even get your money for all your books? As far as I know, this is your only part-time job. And you’re still a grad student.”

You flinched a bit from his question, thinking about your life choices when it came to spending your savings. “Would you believe me if I said I keep an eye on sales and discounts? There are always monthly promos on this site that I frequent …”

Simeon frowned, before moving on to the romance section. “You’re buying books online?”

Oh, no. “I, ah. I mean.” What to say, what to say. “I could buy books here …”

From the bookshelves to your left, Simeon emerged, notepad under his arm, disappointment radiating from every pore of his body. You had no problems with offending people, unwittingly or otherwise, but there was something about Simeon that compelled you to avoid making him all sad and disappointed. The first time you had met him, in your interview for the part-time job, he reminded you of your grandma, all kind smile and cotton-soft voice. But that was before you discovered that he could give an impressive dressing down worthy of a ten-minute standing ovation—which you actually did, much to his chagrin.

Regardless of whether he’s kind or snarky, you just didn’t want to let him down.

Simeon sighed, already used to your impulses. “Have you even read them all?”

“Yes!” A beat. “Well, no.” Another beat. “I mean, I’m more than halfway through—”

“You should refrain from buying books for a while.”

“But think about the discounts.”

Simeon’s brows dipped and his mouth opened—most likely to give a sermon about the virtues of saving money—but whatever he was going to say was cut off by the sudden tinkling of the door chime, signalling a customer.

“I need to sort the newly arrived books; you handle this.” And with a last cursory look at the romance aisle, Simeon headed off to the storage room.

You return to your spot by the cash register, your eyes homing in on the person who entered. Tall, blond, and had a weird way of wearing his jacket. He looked at home surrounded by books, sifting through fantasy, sci-fi, romance, then lingering on the mystery section. At this point you would have asked if he needed assistance, but your preoccupation with your new batch of ordered books held you at bay. If he wanted to inquire about something, he would approach you anyway.

Minutes later, in the middle of mentally listing your storeroom options, Sherlock Holmes materialized in your line of vision.

You looked up, and all the cells in your body halted for one dazzling second.

Huh.

You would’ve tilted your head and stared some more, but work came first.

“Is this all?” you asked, your finger tapping the book.

Across the counter, the customer offered a friendly smile, nodding, his striking green eyes reminding you of summer foliage. “Yeah.”

For some reason you couldn’t reciprocate the smile. “Right.”

When Simeon came back to check up on you, he found you staring at the window in a daze.

“Did something happen?”

“Not really,” you answered, voice slightly dreamy. Then you turned to Simeon, and your lips stretched into a grin. “I’m feeling productive today. I think I can solve my storage problem and my dissertation problem.”

Needless to say, you were right on the money.

+

One week ago, you had been dealt with a conundrum.

“What.”

In front of you, blocking your way to the entrance to your apartment building, were six kittens IT STOPS HERE LOL

[usaghinanami99]

how are you into devilman

Fine, thanks, how about you? Kidding, kidding. I know what you're asking (and I know I'm late answering...): I don't seem like the type of person that would post about something like Devilman, right? Well, the reason behind my getting into it is actually the simplest you can think of: as the most cursory glance at my blog can show, I am an animanga nerd (and for many other things too, but that's a story for another day). I've also been a literary nerd since my dad taught me to read, and now I'm a Literarure student, to boot. My burning passion for literary creation and, crucially, for acquiring knowledge about it (through reading it first-hand, of course) thus plays an enormous part in the way I read and/or watch non-literary texts, which I never choose to engage with any less seriously than I'd do with anything else. And, well, you know how there are some books that you can't not read if you want to understand the literary history of a particular country and/or language? When the medium we're concerning ourselves with is manga, then we can't not read Devilman the same way we can't not read Astro Boy, Attack no. 1, The roses of Versailles or dozens other milestones in the history of Japanese comic that I can't list here and now. I've known that Devilman was among these required readings for a long time, because its immense importance was always referenced in all the books and magazines about the history of manga that I devoured as a Gymnasium student. And my curiosity only grew with the years, because the comic book shop I was a regular at couldn't obviously sell me a series with such a high age rating before I turned 18. You can add to that the fact that I thought I was already well-acquainted with Gō Nagai, when in fact I was only familiar with family-friendly animated adaptations of his most famous works. This is because since around the age of 7 I had watched and rewatched the Robotic Trilogy anime (which consists of Mazinger Z, Great Mazinger and UFO Robot Grendizer), as well as the unrelated Jeeg Robot, be it via some of the very frequent TV reruns or via videotapes that my mum had recorded at the end of the last century. Grendizer, in particular, is very dear to my mum because she grew up on it during the late 70's, so to put is shortly she made it so it could become a part of my childhood too. (Off-topic side note: she was very excited when news of the upcoming Grendizer U reboot aired on TV, but I fear she'll be disappointed due to it being written by the same Ichirō Ōkōchi who's brought us Devilman Crybaby...) Putting it simply: I knew I liked these anime series so I thought I liked Gō Nagai, which fostered my desire to read this all-important but forbidden Gō Nagai manga that I kept on reading about. How things have changed... It may be repeated too much, but it's just because it's true: no one respects Gō Nagai more than those who only known him cursorily through Tōē Dōga's classic adaptations of his giant robot stories, but no one hates Gō Nagai more than those who have actually endured reading his manga.

This was just the needlessly long story behind why, as you can see, I had the moral duty to read Devilman. Flash forward to early 2017, I turn 18, I go to the comic book shop, I buy Devilman, I return home, I read Devilman, I am traumatised, I begrudgingly recognise its genius, I am still disgusted, I develop a (probably unhealthy) love-hate relationship with this manga. Not with Gō Nagai though, that one is a pure hate relationship. BTW, you can imagine how shocked I was when I discovered that my childhood fave Tōkyō Mew Mew was secretly a Devilman retelling; I am just glad I hadn't yet watched stuff like, say, Neon genesis Evangelion before reading Devilman, but this just proved how right I was about there being some manga that should be required reading before passing on to... well, everything else.

I unfortunately suffer from a terminal form of completism syndrome, which is how I ended up searching Japanese blogs for info about those silly pachinko cutscenes that have sparked your question. But in fact, Devilman may very well be what is slowly curing me, since I was so horrified from some of the later official material I've read, not even mitigated by the redeeming virtues of the original manga, that more and more I'm starting to reconsider my stance about having to read and watch *everything* about any particular franchise I get into. I wish I didn't have to learn this the hard way, though... and that I had some brain bleach handy, sigh. Yes, I hate Gō Nagai. Yes, I hate almost all the non-70's Devilman stuff that I've read or watched so far (to the point that I don't know whether to go on or not). Yes, sometimes I wish I could warn my younger self. But historical knowledge is one of the things I value most and, if I hadn't read this foundational title, what sort of pseudo manga fan would I be today? And I love Ryō Asuka to death - don't we all? - along with many future characters and stories by different authors that he paved the way for. These are the two things that I reckon make it worth it to be into something as infuriating and terrifying as Devilman.

[backwoodbarking]

The Dog-Eared Collection: Book 3

Some books you stumble upon as a starving creature to devour in the twilight hours in your most disheveled form. Some you thumb through delicately, curating a gallery of quotes and images to satiate you long past the last page.

And some are an exercise.

The Boys of Summer is a science fiction "coming of age" novel set in Wichita Falls, Texas focused on a group of childhood friends and the catalystic tornado that changed their lives.

Started: October ??? 2022 // Finished: December 11, 2022

I'll admit, I almost didn't write anything about this one. But then I remembered: it's all just a bunch of noise. So, here we are.

I attempted to read this book multiple times in the years that it's collected dust on my window sill. Every time, forgetting the exact reason why I shelved it the try before.

The ironic thing is that I picked it up this time after putting The Terror by Dan Simmons down, only making it a few chapters in. Partly because I wanted to pull together a character list and partly because I couldn't quite get a beat on the author. Was the disagreeable way I saw him approaching women a result of the author's viewpoint or those he was historically trying to replicate? (A cursory glance online seems to support the former. Unfortunate.)

Too lazy to address the first issue and displeased by the second, I turned to Cox's novel. Not for any particular motive other than it was available and simply written. I thought, potentially, my previous attempts had failed due to a deficient attention span.

No, no not exactly.

Here's where the irony swaggers in. While Cox doesn't include any of Simmons's feshitization of native women (small blessings), he certainly struggles with anyone who identifies with that gender. Some sense of an exaggeration or embellishment in their negative traits, grating against the main characters' progress. In addition, they exhibit a greater frequency for abuse, both in instance and severity.

Although, to be fair, no one in this novel is particularly likable. And the men are flawed it's just harder to pin down a feeling of disapproval from the text for those flaws.

To run down the list you have Bobby, Adam, Todd, David, and Jonathan. These men comprise the childhood friend group self-called the Boys of Summer. In addition, you have the female character Alicia, a former crush of Jonathan's and a former girlfriend of David (yes, both, scandalous).

All of them would have likely lived relatively mundane lives had it not been for the 1979 tornado that tore through their town during their childhood. But some lose family members, others experience strange psychic phenomena, and one is left in a "waking coma" for four years.

It's all very Stephen King, I'm sure you understand. Cox takes great inspiration from the horror writer (and says so in interviews). The review on the back of the novel from Sean Beaudoin, author of Welcome Thieves, even claims The Boys of Summer is "the book Stephen King would have written if he'd been born on the wind-ravaged plains of North Texas." Not enough of Stephen King's works have blown my way to disagree.

Here's where there's something to chew with this novel. Not King, not the plot, not the vague mystery within, and definitely not the amount of times with which the characters find themselves discussing the namesake Don Henley song (it's an oft revisited plot point), but the idea of inspiration, of influence.

The 1979 tornado described in the book is based on true events, i.e., the 1979 Red River Valley tornado outbreak. On April 10th, 1979, multiple tornadoes touched down in southwest Oklahoma and northwest Texas. According to the National Weather Service, 42 were killed, 1740 were injured, and thousands more were left homeless. (These numbers seem to vary depending on the source, though. Some claim higher numbers.)

Cox himself did not live in Wichita Falls when "Terrible Tuesday" struck, but his family were from the area and had lived there during his high school years. He saw the damage, though. A "town that had nearly been wiped off the map" he reflects in his The Weeklings interview. The image stuck with him, resulting in a story that whipped together that destructive force with the generative influences of his creative idols.

That is the most compelling element of The Boys of Summer to this reader. The impact of the tornado, the ripples it causes, is the most tangible component to this reader. To the point that it blows away the flimsier structures, such as the character relationships, the hints of science fiction, and the eventual antagonistic figures.

Regardless, finding value in a text you don't necessarily connect with is a nice way to stretch your perspective. I look forward to doing it again. Maybe with less Don Henley lyrics next time, though.

[theartisticcrow]

I must admit I am fascinated by your admiration for l'Incorrupt,considering that from a cursory glance your principles seem decidedly Brissotin in all but the letter. You don't mind le Journée de 31 mai? The fall of the Gironde in general? Desmoulins getting wrecked and owned for party rocking free speech style? I'm not trying to struggle session you,it's just simply never that I see an individual of your apparent political persuasion (social democrat?) arguing in DEFENSE of Robespierre!

Robespierre certainly wasn't perfect. He wasn't a great person and there are choices of his I absolutely disagree with, (such as the Law of 22 Prairial), but he did good things too. He wasn't a dictator, like most people believe. That's the main I'm defending here. My defense comes from an essay I wrote for my teacher in response the EXTREMELY inaccurate slideshows presented to the class during a unit on the French Revolution. Simply put, he was not a bloodthirsty tyrant that guillotined half of France. To say otherwise is factually incorrect. This viewpoint comes from Thermidorian propaganda, not the actual events as they happened. Autistic hyperfixation took over and I did quite a bit of research on the topic, checking the legitimacy of my sources (since I knew it would be a bold stance to take), I pirated a few books since there didn't seem to be a way for me to access a physical copy from any library or bookstore in the city (unfortunately), then I spent 11 days writing a 30 page essay and handed it in to my teacher. I got the highest possible grade for that essay.

There are things about Robespierre I find quite interesting, such as his various progressive political views, or the high probability that he was autistic. And there's so much misinformation and propaganda around his image I don't mind correcting based on the deep research that I have done. I defend him because saying that he was a dictator is a claim based on poor, surface level research. However I also allow myself to denounce these claims whilst acknowledging the things that he did do wrong (in my opinion). If you request, I can explain in deeper detail why, but for now I will mention briefly that: He was never the leader of France; he was one of 12 members of the Committee of Public Safety that had equal power; Robespierre signed the least number of arrest warrants out of all the Committee members; he openly hated the death penalty and tried to have it abolished in 1790; there is no evidence to suggest he even attended a single execution; the Festival of the Supreme Being was not Robespierre's attempt to start a cult around himself, though his enemies certainly took it as an opportunity to frame his as such; he definitely had autism, there's no disputing that one, it is so blatantly obvious.

Thank you for the ask! If you have any more questions, I'm happy to try and answer.

[noshitshakespeare]

Hey! I'm writing this big paper on Macbeth, and the main question I have is How is the renaissance view on humanity and individualism reflected in Macbeth?

Gosh, that’s a massive question. I think we need to take this little by little. 

First, it’s worth questioning the idea that there is a ‘renaissance view of humanity and individualism’. It might be tempting to think of all ages previous to our own as being simpler and easier to characterise, but there’s no single view of humanity in the early modern period any more than there is one now.

The early modern period is a time of incredible flux. It’s difficult to know what caused what, but a mass of things changed and caused change at the same time: voyages of discovery, increase in international trade, the beginnings of capitalism, the Reformation, increased availability of education, increased social mobility, the growth of the middle classes, the essential end of feudalism, the end of the gold standard, the increased use of Arabic numerals, changes in the operation of law… Think of any sphere of social activity, and you’ll find significant shifts occurring about this time. And even a quick glance over these things will suggest that one of the things that’s changing quite rapidly is the place of the individual in society. For instance, the Reformation takes the power of religious authority away from the churches, who are no longer the mediators between God and the individual. Worship begins to be more about the relationship between God and each person, who now has access to the Bible in the vernacular tongue, and can read it, thanks to education. Another instance is capitalism: this kind of money-making increases social competition and differentiation between people and their neighbours. They’re not just peasants, working on their lord’s land, but rivals for wealth, and there’s more to be gained from it: with money, they can send their children to university, become respected, and rise ion the social ranks. 

Texts of the time reflect all of these changes, but as with any era that faces change, they attempt to deny it too. You’ll often find sermons and tracts stressing the importance of social unity and collective humanity, or presenting set social strata as the way God himself made the world (the Great Chain of Being and so on). There’s no doubt that these are correct in their own way too, because the way people act is not always consistent with the way they believe they ought to act. It’s possible that while acting as early modern individuals, they still believed in a more feudal communal world. It’s also possible that people insisted on these older ways of thinking precisely because people were not acting in this way (why should you need conduct manuals telling people how to behave if they were already behaving in that way?). This is a really cursory account, but you can see how complicated it is to get any kind of consensus on how people really behaved and how they thought of themselves.

So I’d caution against talking about ‘renaissance view of humanity and individualism’ but it’s true that individualism is a major aspect of Macbeth. It’s a play that captures a lot of this torn feeling between individualism and the importance of community, which is a constant theme in any society, but which shows up particularly importantly at moments of social change. My friend Kiernan Ryan has a great chapter on this in his book, Shakespeare (2002) where he talks about Macbeth as ‘the tragedy of a man driven, despite the resistance of a new kind of self awakening within him, to become a savage individualist, whose defiant creed is “for mine own good/ All causes must give way” (3.4.134-5)’. The play can’t be reduced to this one aspect, and it’s not a simple cautionary tale, but it is about a man who tries to act as if his own ambitions and desires are the only things that matter in the world. And the play takes the allure of acting in this kind of way very seriously. 

One thing that complicates the depiction of individualism in this play is the fact that Macbeth has the capacity for great empathy, and is at the start, as Lady Macbeth says, ‘full o’th’ milk of human kindness’ (1.5.17) (I’ve covered this question in some detail before). The really brilliant thing about Macbeth is that Macbeth’s an individualist who knows the value of human community and finds out the cost of individualism, which destroys every foundation of trust between people. The other thing the play shows is that even in the very act of individualism is motivated by social factors. The fact that Macbeth is tempted to kill Duncan and take the crown is, paradoxically, motivated by the kind of socially stratified monarchical society which has a king as its supreme leader. In other words, the play reveals that the kind of greed that motivates individuals to act as if they’re the only thing that matters in the world actually has a social basis.

As you can see, the idea of individualism and humanity isn’t a simple matter in early modern society or in the play (or in our own times, for that matter). Then as now, one can criticise individualism as being something that destroys community until ‘Humanity must perforce prey on itself. Like monsters of the deep’ (King Lear 4.2.50-51), but it doesn’t mean people didn’t act this way to greater or lesser extents. Macbeth doesn’t just reflect these social issues either. It thinks through them in some detail and complexity, considering the source of this kind of behaviour, the allure of it, the cost of it, and the effect it can have on the mind of a complicated person like Macbeth.

@lasersentlove

[lunarlooroo]

I loved your response to the prompt about jealous!Snape so I was wondering if you could flip the prompt and do jealous!Heather? It would be a delightful reversal of the trope, and honestly I'm living for awkward!Snape who has no clue how to deal with these situations. I'm pretty sure post-battle warhero Severus Snape is bound to receive some attention. And I'd love to see Heather react to all that! Thank you again for all of your amazing writing!

It was something Heather liked to tease Severus about, his sudden popularity. After the whole truth about his real loyalties and all the effort he put into helping them win the war, it came as no surprise when countless gifts of appreciation started streaming in. Sure, there was still a sizeable faction that had their doubts about his true nature. However, a growing number of people admired him for his work. He was just as likely to receive sneers as well as smiles while walking down the road.

Perhaps more surprising to some was the demographic of Severus’ admirers. They were mostly young to middle-aged witches, both single and married. Heather didn’t find it hard to believe that so many people were suddenly trying to seek his favour. To her, it was plainly obvious how brave, noble, intelligent and attractive he was. Unlike everyone else, however, she had seen all that before he was an acknowledged war hero.

As yet another owl struggling under the weight of its burden flew straight towards him, Heather didn’t bother to hide her giggle. The man looked so utterly fed up that she just couldn’t help herself! That was the third one this week, and it was only Thursday.

He never opened the gifts he received, opting to let the house elves handle them as needed. It was a good thing, as she had heard from Mipsy that one of them had contained a few, shall we say, less-than-appropriate articles of clothing – which hadn’t been washed. Other things like sweets or books were donated to the school after being vetted for safety.

“Who is it from this time?” she asked, leaning over to read the attached card.

Severus grunted, thrusting it at her. “See for yourself.”

She burst into laughter when she set eyes on it. Enclosed in the card was a picture. Not just any picture. A moving wizarding picture of the sender in a rather risqué pose. Objectively, the woman was rather beautiful, all curves and dips in the right places. Pink pouty lips blowing the camera a kiss.

Heather found it hilarious. Quite a few people had asked her if she felt jealous that Severus was getting so much attention from all those women, but they clearly didn’t see how disgusted he was by it all. If looks could burn, the photo in her hands would be ashes with how much Severus was glaring at it.

Which was why when the next package arrived, she was surprised to see Severus accept it graciously, after a cursory glance at the sender’s name.

“Who is that from?” She watched as he slipped the small parcel into his pockets, curious about what it contained.

“Narcissa Malfoy.”

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise at that. “Draco’s mother?”

Severus nodded curtly as he pushed his chair back. “Excuse me, I shall take my leave first. I have a few things to tend to today, but I left a few instructions for you in the lab. I will be back for dinner.” With that, he strode out of the Great Hall, leaving a puzzled Heather in his wake.

Heather lingered a little over her breakfast, musing over Severus’ odd actions. Usually, when he had instructions for her, they were something new he wanted to teach. Hence, he would be with her to make sure she knew what to do before leaving her to it. This was a first.

“Alright there, Heather?” Headmistress McGonagall, or Minerva, as she insisted, asked.

“Yes, I’m fine.” Come to think of it, the older witch had been Severus’ teacher. Heather wondered if she knew anything about this. “I have a question. Were Severus and Mrs Malfoy friends in school?”

Minerva gave her an amused smile. “Yes, I believe they were. Or as much as a halfblood and a pureblood could be, in Slytherin. They tried to play it off as a mutually beneficial acquaintanceship, but I could tell they did enjoy each other’s company beyond that.”

Heather thought about those words as she made her way back to the dungeons. She had only met Narcissa Malfoy twice, after the Battle of Hogwarts and during the court trial that acquitted both her and Draco of any crime. Lucius Malfoy had been sentenced to a few years in Azkaban, but that was unavoidable, given his active and willing participation in the war.

She didn’t know much about the woman, but she remembered being impressed by the poise and dignity she maintained, even as she faced the jeering crowd in the courtroom. That, and she could admire a woman who was willing to risk her life for the safety of her son.

What she hadn’t expected was for Severus and Narcissa Malfoy to be close friends, though. She could see how it worked, now that she thought about it. They had quite a few similarities, despite their difference in background. Both trapped by circumstances of their birth. Narcissa, third born daughter, destined to be married off as a pawn for political gain. Severus, poor halfblood sorted to a house where blood purity reigned supreme. Both willing to do anything necessary to protect those they loved.

She wondered, for a moment, if they’d had something more between them than friendship. Something that could have blossomed had it not been for their difference in station. Picturing them standing side-by-side, she found that they looked very suited to each other.

An ugly burst of emotion had her scowling at the thought.

What did she, a girl half his age, still in the middle of her apprenticeship – to Severus himself, no less – have to offer a man like him? Unconsciously, she found herself thinking about the racy picture that had been sent to him earlier. The voluptuous figure of the woman, where it had made her laugh just an hour before, only made her self-conscious now. Due to her upbringing at the Dursleys, her stature had remained on the short side, with barely any figure to speak of. Her waif-like physique only made her look younger than she was.

She couldn’t help but compare that to Narcissa Malfoy, a rather tall woman, whom while petite, was far Heather’s own stick-like figure. If stood next to each other, Heather would look comically like a little girl playing at womanhood. While she was rarely one to pay attention to her appearance, in this instance, she felt acutely lacking.

Perhaps Severus had gone out to meet Narcissa? It wasn’t a farfetched conclusion to come to. Her husband was stuck firmly in prison for the foreseeable future, and Heather and Severus hadn’t made each other any promises, besides.

It was a bitter pill to swallow.

~~~

Heather had been distracted all day with thoughts of what Severus could possibly be doing and if he was doing it with Narcissa Malfoy. The so-called tasks Severus had for her were little more than grunt work. It seemed too much like he just wanted to occupy her with mindless work for the day.

Well, he needn’t have bothered. If he’d just said that he didn’t want to be disturbed, she would have left him alone. She wouldn’t go where she wasn’t welcome.

It was evening by the time she slogged through the chore list. Opting for a quick shower to wash off the day’s grime before dinner, she was surprised to see a house elf waiting patiently outside her rooms. He passed her a short note before blinking away.

For some reason, Severus had chosen to pass her notes like they were still students rather than talk to her directly. For a moment, she had the childish urge to ball the paper up and throw it in the fireplace. That was silly though, because as far as she knew, Severus could have simply gone out to restock his potions supplies or any other boring errand. All her thoughts about Narcissa Malfoy or other women were just her wild imaginings.

The note said to meet him at his quarters before going dinner. It was an odd request, but she would see what he wanted. Hopefully a bath would clear her head. She didn’t really want to go into this frustrated.

It gave her some time to think, so she stepped out of her bathroom with a calm heart. There was no use jumping to conclusions right now. Honestly, her earlier suspicions seemed very stupid from where she was now. She wasn’t usually this irrational, but then, love did strange things to a person.

Still, she put on one of her prettier dresses and put her hair up in a nice braid before making her way to Severus’. A girl didn’t need reasons to dress up.

As she approached Severus’ door, she felt the unmistakeable tingle of magic. How peculiar for him to have a proximity ward up.

‘Something to hide,’ a traitorous part of her mind whispered.

To no surprise at all, he opened the door before she even knocked. The moment he set eyes on her, however, he half-frowned.

“You found out,” he said, disgruntled.

Three words. Just 11 letters. They had her heart rabbiting in her chest. What did he mean? Found out what? Dread took root as she considered the words. Did he mean Narcissa Malfoy? Were her suspicions actually right?

“You were acting odd today,” she settled on saying. She clasped her hands behind her back to keep the trembling out of view.

Sighing, the man stepped back to let her in. “I should have known you would not miss that.”

Of course not. Few paid him more attention than she did. She had seen him at his worst and his best. She would think she knew what he looked like when he was hiding something. She kept her silence as he guided her further into his rooms with a hand on her back. Any other time, she would have enjoyed it. Now, though, it felt too much like a gentle let down. Just as the elegant dinner set out across his dining table would have been romantic under other circumstances.

“Very beautiful,” she said sincerely. Despite the ache growing in her chest, she could appreciate the effort he put into making this as nice a rejection as possible.

“Thank you. I had help.” He even pulled her seat out like a proper gentleman.

And because she was a masochist, she asked, “Was it Narcissa Malfoy?”

It was, of course. She didn’t know what else she had expected to hear.

The meal was lovely, as expected of a perfectionist like Severus. She smiled at him, laughed when he made snarky quips. She acted like it was any other day. For now, she could pretend that this was just a thoughtful gesture on his part, perhaps even a romantic one. The illusion shattered once the last bite was taken.

“Heather, as I am sure you already know, I prepared this dinner for a reason.” He looked intently at her as he said this. “There is something I have been meaning to say for a while now, and I apologise for taking this long to tell you.”

She shook her head, tears in her eyes. It hurt that he had apparently been stringing her along for quite some time, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be angry. His gaze softened as he wiped some of her tears away. There, that was why she couldn’t get mad. Even when he was breaking her heart, he was being so nice about it.

Severus slid something across the table towards her. She recognised it as the package from this morning, from Narcissa Malfoy. Wildly, she wondered why the woman had thought to give her a gift in this scenario. Was it a wizarding custom she was unaware of? ‘I’m sorry I stole the love of your life, have some chocolate to eat your sorrows away’?

Nonetheless, she reached out to pick it up. With shaky fingers, she unwrapped the brown paper to reveal its contents. She gasped when her eyes fell upon the delicate filigree locket inside. Carefully, she clicked it open and saw that it was a picture of her parents on their wedding day. Suddenly, she realised that this necklace had belonged to her mother. It didn’t show any signs of age, however, looking almost brand new.

“Your grandparents gifted this to your mother on her wedding day. When I found it in the wreckage of Godric’s Hollow, it was in great disrepair. I asked Narcissa if she could find a jeweller to restore it to its original state.”

She fingered the platinum, touched. The gesture confused her a little, however. Why bother to go to such lengths? Still, she thanked him for the gift, though she wondered how she would be able to stand looking at it when it was connected to such a painful memory.

Severus stood and walked over to her side of the table. Kneeling in front of her, he took her hands in his. She braced herself, this was it. He’d finally say the words that would break her heart.

“Heather,” he began, and she couldn’t even tear her eyes away. She gripped his fingers tightly. “I love you.”

She froze at those words.

Then she burst into tears.

“Oh thank Merlin!” she sobbed.

The man was obviously bewildered by her reaction. “What?”

“I- I thought you were breaking up with me!” She threw her arms around him. “I love you too, you darling man.”

“Thank you, but wait. What?” he sputtered. “Why on earth would you think that?”

She ducked her head, embarrassed. “I was just being a right idiot. Ignore what I said.”

Severus pushed back a little to look at her face. “No, hold on. I thought you knew about my plans! That is why you are dressed so nicely, isn’t it?”

“A girl doesn’t need a reason to dress up!” Heather maintained. She wasn’t trying to compete with anyone, she wasn’t.

“Heather,” he said in reprimand.

She refused to look at him, staring at her lap. “Okay, so apparently you’re pretty close to Narcissa Malfoy. I may have jumped to a few conclusions.”

“Narcissa?” he frowned, “Let me assure you, she is firmly devoted to Lucius.” He tipped her chin up so he could look her in the eye. “As I am to you.”

Oh. Hastily, she wiped her tears away, feeling even sillier than before. “I can’t believe I ruined your surprise. And you went to such effort, too! This was all so very romantic.” She laughed, a tad hysterically.

“None of that now.” He pulled her hands away, keeping her from hiding her face. “I wouldn’t say it was ruined. I did manage to say what I wanted to, and I got my answer as well. I would count this as a success, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, if you put it that way…”

“Though I suppose there is something we missed out,” Severus added.

“Wha-”

Her question was swallowed when Severus leant in and joined their lips together. Her eyes fell shut as she savoured the kiss, bringing her hands up to cup his face. He seemed intent on chasing away any doubts she had for his feelings. It was working.

“I love you,” he reiterated, once they surfaced to breathe.

“Yes, I think I know now,” she said, grinning like a lunatic. “I love you too.” They stayed there, cradled in each other’s arms for a few moments before she broke the silence. “Does this mean I get to call you my boyfriend?”

Severus made a sound of disgust. “I would thank you not to refer to me with such a juvenile term. We are not fatuous third years.”

“Sweetheart then?” she asked cheekily.

“No part of me is sweet.”

Heather put a hand on his chest, right on top of where his heart beat. “I stand to differ, but if you don’t like that, then maybe…I’ll just call you mine.”

“Only if I may do the same.”

Heart soaring, she closed the distance between them again. “Deal.” And she sealed it with a kiss.